


Someone To Find You

by Daisystypewriter



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Connor Deserves Happiness, Evan/Connor - Freeform, Everybody Lives, Fluff, M/M, Tree Bros, Zoe deserves happiness, evan and Connor attempt suicide on the same day, for forever ish at first but it gets better, heidi hansen is an angel, possible zolana, tree bros is end goal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-08-08 15:36:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16432181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daisystypewriter/pseuds/Daisystypewriter
Summary: Evan breaks his arm. Connor is passed out in the park. They find each other.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi lovelies!!! I’m back, with a more long term project! This is gonna be a hella slow burn so buckle up. I really hope you guys enjoy this!

The day is unfairly bright when Evan climbs the tree at Ellison State Park. Like, if he was gonna take the time and effort to actually Do It, couldn’t the world be just like a Disney movie, where sad things only happen on rainy days? The day is cheery and warm and Evan is detached from it all. His thoughts wander in the rambling, fast paced way they always do, and why should he have expected any different? Just cause he wasn’t planning on returning from the park didn’t mean he was suddenly going to appreciate the fucking sunshine and learn to think at something slower than breakneck speed. 

He thinks about this morning, the note from his mom, casually tacked onto the toaster— “Eat breakfast! May be home late. I love you!” And how his stomach had fallen, reading it, cause he wasn’t going to get to see his mom one last time after all, it was just an “I love you!” Followed by eternal radio silence. That was so typical, though- Heidi trying so, so hard, only for Evan to fuck it all up. Hopefully she’d have time for a new boyfriend after Evan was dead, and they’d have perfect, non disappointment children who could make Heidi happy after Evan failed at it for years. 

He starts methodically instructing himself to fall into his routine, body unwilling.  _ Now we get out of the car, Evan, remember to lock it, Evan, dammit, stop being such a pile of dead weight for once, Evan.  _

He knows where the tree is. It’s been a couple weeks since he first saw it, and it’s sat like a silent promise ever since. The tallest tree at Ellison park. 

 

The finality of it overcomes him when he’s standing, a stranger at a giant’s foot, right at the trunk of the tree. His palms are sweaty, too sweaty to get a grip on the bark, and he lets out a little laugh at that, wouldn’t Evan Hansen be the first kid in history to be too sweaty to kill himself? He laughs and it still isn’t funny.

He wipes his hands on his khakis and begins to climb. 

 

The climbing is easier if he doesn’t think. He’s done it a million times, with a million trees, and the rhythm of pulling himself up to the next branch, and the next- it’s calming. 

The only non tree-climbing though that pervades the wall of silence is that he has to be high enough for it to work. So he keeps going. And he keeps going. 

He didn’t leave a note, he thinks, once he’s up high enough. No note. No marks left on the world, nothing to prove he was Ever. Even. There. 

For a split second, he considers climbing down to write a note, to maybe leave his mom a voicemail,  _ something _ , but he figures it’s just as well that there’s no trace of him left over. To die as he lived.

 

It’s not some melodramatic, attention seeking death wish that made Evan climb up here. It’s practicality. He is a burden who uses up oxygen for more deserving people, works his poor mother half to death trying to provide for him, and honestly? It seems stupid to keep such a waste of space around when no one needs him, no one wants him? He can have a little funeral that no one will attend but his mom and maybe Jared, and that’ll be it. No more Evan Hansen. No more problems, no more anxious balls of energy in class, disrupting the peace with his “um”s and “uh”s. No more ruining everything for everyone he’s ever met. Poof. 

 

And for another second he thinks about just getting down and pretending this never happened, but something inside of him snaps at his cold feet.  _ Fuck, fuck fuck fuck can’t you do anything right? You can’t even kill yourself, Evan Hansen, you’re pathetic, God- _ and he lets go of the rough branch, watching in slow motion the way his bark-bloodied hands leave stains on the branch. It’s a grim but satisfying finality. He made a final mark on the world after all. 

 

Then he hits the ground. 

 

It’s funny how he never imagined this part, the landing. It was always climb, fall, fade to black, Evan Hansen is Dead and No One Cares Or Notices At All. 

But he lands. Hard. The shock of hitting the ground combined with the unmistakable crack of bone makes him think he is actually dead, his eyes closed. But when he peeks open an eye, he is still miserable 17 year old Evan Hansen, who is pretty sure he broke something. 

The realization is crushing. He doesn’t move for some minutes.  _ Just… come and get me…  _ he thinks.  _ I’m right here, come and get me… any second now…  _

No one comes to get him. 

 

He gingerly gets to his feet, the lush, late-spring grass sticking to him as he makes his way off the ground. His body is one giant bruise, and it’s one more thing he’ll have to explain to his mom, he realizes, why her son is black and blue with a broken arm.

 

There’s nothing left to feel, nothing but a raw emptiness of failure. So he doesn’t feel. He walks stiffly, cradling his arm, thinking  _ maybe I can get a ranger to take me home?  _ And he’s bursting out of the claustrophobia of the forest, and into the entrance with the visitor’s center, the parking lot, the benches- the- the benches… 

 

Someone is curled up on one of the benches, a puddle of puke beneath them. 

Evan’s usual lack of action is briefly dispelled, and he rushes over to the bench, trying his best not to jostle his arm. The puke has little lumps of white in it, white that definitely looks like pills, oh god-

“Are- are you okay?” Evan asks, placing a tentative hand on the shoulder of the huddled figure. 

A groan. Evan helps them sit up, pulls the long brown hair out of their face, squats to reach eye level with- what the fuck? 

It’s Connor Murphy, bleary eyed and pale and ready to puke again. 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor’s gonna be okay. Evan has no idea what he’s getting himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! Here’s the second chapter, hope you enjoy! Heidi Hansen is the most important woman in my life and I need y’all to know that. Anyways, please leave kudos and a comment if you can! I love you all!

“Connor?” Evan says, unsure what he’s asking. If it really is him, maybe? But Evan knows who Connor is, by association. He’s Zoe Murphy’s brother, the raincloud that follows her beautiful visage from a safe distance.  _ Not the time, Evan _ . “Oh, oh my god, I can-  I’m calling 911,” he says, reaching for his cell phone. Connor trembles like his whole body is trying to tear itself apart.

 

When the operator asks him what his emergency is, Evan struggles to get the words out. “I’m- he- help, he overdosed, I, I think, he puked everywhere-“ 

“Sir, I need you to stay calm. Can you tell us where you are?” 

“I’m- Ellison Park- please hurry, he was unconscious when I found him a-and, he- my arm is broken, I can’t support his weight,” 

“Okay, sir, is he conscious now? Can you talk to him? We have an ambulance on the way,” the operator replies. 

“I don’t- Connor? Connor, wake up!” Evan tries, but it’s pretty useless, like shaking a ragdoll. And that’s sort of what Connor looks like, a ragdoll with the stuffing torn out. And covered in puke. “He’s still passed out,” Evan says miserably. 

“An ambulance should be arriving soon, sir, stay calm. Is he still breathing? Can you check for a pulse?” 

“He’s breathing- I- I- I can see his shoulders moving. I think I can, um, feel a pulse, but I’m not, uh, sure,” Evan says, feeling Colossally Unhelpful. 

“That’s fine. Make sure he continues breathing, and that his airway doesn’t get clogged by vomit,” she says. On the questions go, on go the reminders to stay calm, and Connor looks deader by the second, or maybe it’s just Evan’s imagination. “Do you see or hear an ambulance now?” The operator asks, gentle but clear. 

“An amb- yeah, I see- I can see one coming up the hill.” 

After many apologies and stumblings on his part, he gets off the phone with 911. The paramedics are already loading Connor in, and he looks so little and pale on the stretcher that Evan feels his heart sink. One of the paramedics spares him a glance and says, 

“You did just fine. But that arm’s bent the wrong way, son, and you need to be treated for shock anyhow. You’d better come with us,” he says, gesturing to the ambulance, and before Evan can say anything, or do anything, he’s on the ambulance, with a boy he’s never spoken to, who looks translucent and bone thin as he jerks slightly on the stretcher. 

 

Evan hates hospitals and doctors offices. Which is really a shame, because he spends a lot of his time in them. Now he’s in a hospital, having his arm x rayed, told that his mother will be there soon, having left the hospital on the other side of town to be with him. It isn’t fair to her, Evan knows, but he’s grateful to see his mom anyway. 

They won’t tell him how Connor is yet. Which is unnerving, he thinks, as he gets fitted for his cast, but he shouldn’t be surprised. He probably won’t get any news until Connor’s family arrive. 

Heidi arrives twenty minutes later, all worry lines and nervous energy. She hugs him so tight he thinks he’s going to break a rib too, and says, “Don’t ever do that again, Evan Hansen!” 

And Heidi never yells or makes ultimatums like that, it reminds her too much of how her mother behaved, so Evan knows that she must really be upset. He feels more miserable than before, if that could be possible. 

The doctor turns to Heidi. “With all due respect, Mrs. Hansen, Evan here is a hero. After he broke his arm, he called 911 and saved someone from committing suicide,” he says, and Heidi’s face lights up with pride. 

“You- you did? Evan, that’s amazing!” She says, tearing up slightly, hugging him tighter than before. The sad thing about it is that it’s not just that he saved someone’s life that makes her so proud. It’s the fact that he made a phone call. 

Evan smiles, strained, and lets her hug him for a minute or two before pulling away. 

“Speaking of which, um, I have to- I should probably go check on him and the- and his family,” he said, if only to escape that beaming smile that he never thinks he’s earned. 

“Okay, sweetie. I’m gonna have to go back to work in a little while, do you want me to drop you off at home first?” She asks, tiredness lacing her smile. They work her to death over there, he knows. 

“No, it’s- it’s totally okay, I can just. Walk. I’ll get my car back from the park tomorrow or something,” he mumbles, eyes cast to the ground. 

“Okay, sweetheart, if you’re sure. I love you!” She says, and it reminds him of the note on the toaster, too much, and he’s barely able to choke out an “I love you too,” before he rushes out the door. 

The receptionist tells him Connor is ready for visitors, since the family is with him. Evan nods, the safest method of communication, and takes the stairs up to the ward. There’s too many variables involved intaking the elevator with other people. 

And suddenly every thought is wiped from his mind because there’s  _ Zoe,  _ brown hair swept up into a ponytail, her denim jacket hanging loosely off her perfect shoulders. With her are a man and a woman who look like the base template for Mom and Dad, both looking concerned, grieved. She’s got a rusty reddish brown bob that looks like it was only half combed, and he’s unshaven, disheveled, which doesn’t suit him. He looks like a man who is always put together. 

How was he supposed to approach? Hi, I’m Evan Hansen, I called 911 for your unconscious son and I feel some sort of moral obligation to make sure he’s okay because I dunno, suicide attempt brothers? Also I’ve been in love with your daughter for at least three years. 

Thankfully, Zoe recognizes him. “Evan, right?” She says. “Thanks. For doing what you did, The doctors told us you were the one who placed the 911 call. That was really good of you,” she says, though her eyes don’t capture the same message as her mouth. 

The woman, Connor’s mother, bustles over, wrapping Evan in a tight hug before he can say anything. “You saved my boy,” she whispers, voice breaking and dipping into relief. “Thank you, whoever you are.” 

“You’re- it’s no trouble. Just a- I was in the right place at the right time, I- I guess,” he says, trying to smooth out his words before they fall off his tongue. 

“Mom, that’s Evan. He’s in Connor’s grade, he goes to our school,” Zoe says, and Evan feels a rush of gratitude to her for remembering anything about him, for seeing him. 

“Well, we are so glad you were there in time, Evan,” says the man, stepping forward. “You were raised right, son,” he says firmly, clapping a hand on Evan’s shoulder. 

An awkward pause. “So, is he stable? Will he be okay?” He asks, playing with the hem of his blue polo. 

“He’s not up yet, but he’ll be alright, the doctors said,” Connor’s mother gushes animatedly. “You should come see him tomorrow! Connor needs some support in these times, I’m sure he’d love to see you-“ 

“Mom, don’t force him-“ Zoe interrupts, in an attempt to save Evan.

“I’m not forcing-“ 

“Jesus, Cynthia, don’t breathe down the kid’s neck,” the father sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I- I- could- I’d like to come,” Evan manages, feeling like a Major League Dumbass as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

“Really?” Cynthia beams, the glow coming back into her face. “Thank you so so much, I don’t know how we can repay you,” she says, her eyes gleaming with something motherly and hopeful. 

“Just- ah, just happy to- to help…” Evan mumbles lamely. 

“Connor is so lucky that someone like you found him,” Cynthia says, and hugs him once more.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan goes home and writes a letter. Connor wakes up and tries to remember. (They meet in this one!!)

After a sweaty three mile walk back to his house, Evan flops down on the deep blue comforter, before realizing what a terrible idea it is to flop onto a bed when your entire body is littered with bruises. He winces and pulls himself into a sitting position, grabs his laptop.

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

Today was the worst day yet. You had one thing left to do and you couldn’t even do that right. Bastard.

Sincerely,

Me

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

Why do you even write these? There’s no point. You’re a colossal fuck-up and that’s all you’ll ever be.

Sincerely,

Me

 

Dear Evan Hansen,

I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate y

 

Evan closes his laptop.

 

Who knows how long Evan’s been staring at the ceiling when Heidi gets home. He hears her comfortable shoes make their gentle thumping over the kitchen tile, hears her humming to herself, presumably while she puts a twenty on the kitchen counter with some little note. As the steps approach his room, he quickly gets under the covers and pretends to be asleep. He can picture her sad little smile as she opens the door, before gently closing it and tiptoeing back out of the house.

 

Connor

When he wakes up, it’s like for a second he thinks he’s made it to the afterlife, but then he smells Cynthia’s perfume, just barely there and mixed with antiseptic, and he knows he’s on earth, and in a hospital. He opens his eyes and he is still 17-year-old Connor Murphy, more exhausted than he’s ever been with a bad taste in his mouth. He’s alone, which he’s thankful for. When these kinds of things happen, it’s easier to get your bearings on your own. Everything hurts, unsurprisingly. He guesses that’s part of the package when you try to poison yourself.

It’s fucking cold, especially in his arm where they put the IV. He tucks his free arm under the blanket and tries to remember.

It was morning, Wednesday morning. The pills stolen from the medicine cabinet, the car keys stolen from Cynthia’s purse. The bag of weed he had stuffed into his jacket pocket. It had more or less become his morning coffee, with the opposite effect. He needed to be calm to go through with this anyway.

His nails were freshly polished. He knew they’d wipe it off when they were embalming him and shit anyways, but who says you can’t look nice for yourself? He climbed into Cynthia’s pretty, Cherry red Ford Expedition, and slammed on the gas.

When he got to the park, he didn’t see any reason to rush. Because nobody visits park reservations anymore except nerds, the place was pretty deserted, so he rolled a joint and smokes it, really savoring every puff. _Eyes, look your last_. Where did that come from? It didn’t matter. The point was that he sat around for a couple hours, smoking leisurely, trying not to think about anything, anything at all.

Sooner or later he got sick of waiting like a coward so he fished the bottle of pills, sleeping pills, fancy ones Cynthia had bought for him to fix his insomnia, just the thousandth illness he had that needed to be fixed. Zoe was the one who had the worse insomnia, anyway, he remembered, and she never got anything.

He thought about Zoe, then, how he had taken out everything on her for years, until one day, she snapped and spat fire back at him. He knew he had ruined everything, then, because your kid sister is supposed to love you and shit, unless you’re a massive asshole, like Connor knew he was.

He thought of Larry, who kept reaching out to him, but in all the wrong ways. That godawful baseball glove, for instance. But Connor knew Larry didn’t really want Connor to get better. He just wanted a new Connor, one who played baseball and liked Paul Anka and girls, a Connor who didn’t freak out when the radio was too loud or refused to come out of his room for days on end.

He shook Zoe and Cynthia and Larry from his mind and poured the pills into his hand.

Pour, fade to black, Connor Murphy is Dead and we can Finally Talk About Something Else, Thank God.  

 

It didn’t end up that way.

 

Now he’s in another fucking hospital, costing everyone thousands of dollars instead of just dying, dammit- and he’s got visitors.

 

“Oh,” says- who is it? Some kid from school, Emmett maybe? He thinks his name is Emmett- “You’re awake,” he mumbles, like he’s disappointed.

“The fuck are you doing in here?” Connor asks, eyes squinting, still adjusting to the light.

“Sorry! Sorry. I’m- Evan Hansen, uh. Yeah. I’m the one who- who placed the 911 call…” He’s stumbling over his words, and Connor almost feels bad for the kid. But as always, instead of saying something Normal and Socially Acceptable, Connor scowls at him and goes,

“So? I don’t want anyone in here.”

“Sorry-“

“Why don’t you just get the fuck out? I bet you a million dollars my parents made you do this-“

“Sorry, I’m- I’m sorry, I can leave,” The kid is red in the face and looks like he wants to cry. Connor feels a pang if guilt.

“Whatever. You can leave if you want, I’ll tell them you stopped by and we’re getting along like best friends or some shit,” he says, looking down. Evan’s features flicker between disappointment and relief.

“Okay, well, um, see you, see you at the- at school in um. August,” Evan says, clearly trying to be conversational but mostly failing.

“Yeah,” Connor replies, picking at his nails.

After Evan leaves, Connor lets himself laugh for a split second. He might have just met the only kid who’s worse at talking than he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, sweet people!! Feel free to come yell at me on my tumblr, @daisys-typewriter . Don’t worry, Evan and Connor aren’t on awesome terms now, but that’s gonna change. I love you all!! (Also come talk to me in the comments! Tell me how your weekend was! I love talking to you all!)


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia and Heidi keep forgetting their kids are grown up. Connor and Evan try to remember how to laugh.

All good things come to an end. Sooner or later, inevitability rolls around, and the Wonderful Murphy Family shows up at the hospital. 

And there’s crying, and discussion of more therapy, more meds, more more more more. Zoe’s sulking in a corner- god, she won’t even  _ look _ at him, and he can’t- he can’t pay attention. His head hurts too much. 

“Connor, are you listening to us?” He hears Larry ask, but it’s like he’s underwater and Larry is standing by the shore. 

“Sure,” Connor replies. Not a good answer, he thinks, watching the hurt spread over his mother’s features. Never a good answer. 

“We’re trying to help you, young man, you had better straighten up and respect us,” Larry says, all concern under a layer of thorns and spite and stone. 

“Gotcha,” Connor says, letting the ‘o’ widen and trail off. Gaaaatcha. There’s nothing left to say. Radio silence. Dead air. It’s like music to the Murphy household. 

“Honey, did that nice boy come to see you today? Evan Hansen? He was the one who placed the-“ Cynthia starts to say. 

“Who placed the 911 call, I know. Yeah. We got along,” Connor says, and for once he said the Right Thing, and he sees relief draw back the curtains of his mother’s face. Larry’s chin pulls up in pride and he smiles. Even Zoe looks up from her lap. It’s kind of shitty, if you think about it, that all of this comes from Connor saying he got along with someone. 

“Oh honey, that’s amazing! We’ll- I’ll see if I can call him and have him come visit you more often, how’s that?” Cynthia is practically vibrating with excitement, and she’s got this expression that Connor’s seen before- maybe this can work, maybe my son isn’t doomed kind of face. He feels bad for leading her on. 

“You really don’t have to-“ 

“Tell you what, I got his cell phone number on his way out, I’ll tell him to come tomorrow!” She’s not even listening anymore, she’s off in Cynthia Land, where the Murphy family is perfect and chia seed egg substitute is always half off. 

Larry sighs, and briefly he and Connor glance at each other in acknowledgment, nodding at Cynthia. A ghost of a smile plays on Larry’s face, then it’s business as usual. 

 

Evan’s lying on the couch, flicking through tv channels endlessly, when Cynthia calls. 

“Evan, hi! It’s Mrs. Murphy,” she shouts into the phone in that way old people do. He winces. 

“Hi, Mrs Murphy. Can I- did you need something?” He asks, momentarily pausing The Price Is Right. 

“Well, Connor told me all about how you boys got along, so I wanted to know if you wanted to come have a- well, not a play date, you kids don’t call it that anymore- would you want to come see him again tomorrow?” He can hear the hope sprouting in her voice, creeping in around the edges. 

“I uh,” Evan says, and the crackling silence on the line makes his decision for him. “I’d love to.” 

 

That night, Heidi actually makes it home in time for dinner, so Evan gets to take in her awful, tragic happiness that makes his stomach churn.  _ You don’t deserve her you don’t deserve her you don’t you don’t-  _

“What all did you do today?” Heidi asks, picking over her sesame chicken, eyes bright. Evan knows she’s grateful he’s alive, and it makes him sick. 

“Oh, n-not much,” Evan says, desperately trying to think of something to say that isn’t  _ I watched tv for 5 hours and couldn’t find the energy to even get up for water or to brush my teeth. “ _ I think I’m going to go see Connor tomorrow.” There. He said The Right Thing. 

“Oh honey, that’s awesome!” Heidi exclaims. “Should I- do you want me to come along, or…?” Her voice trails off, and they both realize that she’s just offered to chaperone his play date. 

“I think I’ll be fine, Mom,” he replies, but it’s too cold and too quick, and she’s hurting before he can even will the words back into his mouth. 

“Right! I keep forgetting you’re all grown up now,” she says, quickly masking her pained look. 

Evan mumbles something about having some reading to do, and he leaves his mother’s tired lines in the kitchen. 

 

Try as he might, Evan can’t pause time and lie in bed forever. Sooner or later, inevitability rolls around, and it’s time to go visit Connor. He walks to the crumbling bus stop because what else is there to do? He thinks he can smell the clean smell of sickness and cleaning supplies, but it’s his imagination. 

Connor is awake when he arrives, but his face shows a sleepy stupor of being tired of living and waking. Evan tries to smile. 

“Hi,” he attempts, and the words get a little caught on the way out but they’re mostly just fine. Connor doesn’t speak, and Evan takes a gulp of the dead air, maybe trying to eat up his spoken word out of shame. 

“So. What happened to your arm?” He asks after a few minutes of sufficiently awkward silence. 

“Oh, I um, fell out of a tree, actually,” Evan says, and he’s pretty sure he said The Right Thing, because it’s the least painful version of the truth. 

“Fell out of a tree,” Connor says, mulling it over for a second, before his lips twist in a kind of quirked smile that looks like it hurts. “Well, that is just the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard, oh my god,” he says, breathing out a little laugh like he’s not used to it. 

“I- I know,” Evan says, trying to laugh back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! Feel free to come talk to me on tumblr, I’m @daisys-typewriter. Sorry for the slightly delayed update!


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which 1. A brochure is lost. 2. An argument is resolved. 3. A jacket is found.

It’s not that things get better from there, it’s that the concentration of bad things alleviates a little. That’s how Evan thinks of it, anyway. He visits Connor every few days. Connor doesn’t yell at him for the most part, and they either sit in silence for half an hour or they make more awkward, fumbling conversation that falls just a little flat of what it needs to be. 

“So,” Connor says one day, breaking fifteen minutes of silence. “They’re saying I might have to go on this stupid fucking therapeutic retreat to Vermont or some shit if I don’t “clean up my act.”” There are bandages on his wrists that he accidentally flashes while making air quotes, making it very clear exactly what act he needs to clean up. 

“Oh,” says Evan, unsure of how to respond. Connor’s face twists in contempt and he looks real, somehow, more real than he looked on that park bench or in the hallway to the science wing. 

“God, don’t you have anything to say about that? You’re afraid I’m gonna blow up, right? Gonna blow up so everyone knows how fucking insane Crazy Connor is, right?” He’s not yelling, not yet, but he’s getting there. He needed to be angry at something, so he seized his opportunity. He looks like hell, and those bandages on his wrists those bandages on his wrists those bandages- 

“I- I don’t think you’re crazy,” Evan replies quietly, wishing himself home and in bed or in front of a Jerry Springer marathon. 

His soft response seems to take Connor back to himself. “Well,” he says, trying to catch his breath in the stale air of the ward, “You could stand to defend yourself or something. I was- I was mean,” he mutters, like he’s ashamed of himself. 

“It’s okay,” Evan replies, and it’s not, not really, but his heart rate is returning to normal so things must be alright. 

“Okay,” Connor says, all venom drained from his gaze. “Okay.” 

 

Connor

That afternoon, Connor gets released from suicide watch, and Cynthia gets him McDonalds on the way home. Which is exactly the kind of sentence you have to say if you have a kid who keeps trying to kill themself. Out of the hospital, bandages on the wrists, IV freshly out of the arm. Let’s go get Mickey D’s. 

“So,” Cynthia chirps as they sit in the sizzling heat of the McDonald’s parking lot. “Have you given any thought to the retreat?” 

Instead of answering, Connor takes another bite of his burger and says, “Hey, why’d you let me have this? You always say fast food is too processed.” 

Cynthia’s vermillion red nails clack impatiently on the steering wheel. “Because you’re hungry and I haven’t gone grocery shopping. Did you look at the pamphlet I left for you?” She asks, and there’s a tight, wound up exhaustion behind her eyes. Connor feels remorse for being born, but this time, it’s specifically because Cynthia has to put up with his bullshit. 

But he doesn’t answer. He just takes another enormous bite of sandwich. 

 

Zoe 

She can hear Dad and Cynthia arguing in the living room. They don’t know she’s in the kitchen because of course they don’t. They don’t give a rats ass if she’s in the kitchen or Jamaica. 

“I’m just saying, he doesn’t need another damn retreat. He needs people to stop hovering over him for two seconds.” That’s Dad, and by the muffled sound of his voice Zoe can tell he’s got his head in his hands. She can picture him running one hand through his hair as they talk. 

“B-but there’s been studies done! The fresh air, the devotionals and team building exercises, they  _ help _ these kids!” Cynthia is close to tears, Zoe can hear her lip trembling. 

“What he needs is a friend, honey, not another miracle.” 

“I j-just want him to get better, Larry. My baby.” Cynthia’s actually crying now, body wracking sobs. Zoe hugs her knees closer to herself. 

“I know. I know.” 

“The o-only thing he has going for him is that E-Evan Hansen, th-they’re friends, aren’t they?” 

“Sure they are. Evan goes to see him all the time. Don’t you think Connor’d rather stay with his one friend instead of relocating again?” Larry murmurs. 

“Maybe, but… I just feel silly, trying to decide for him. I h-hardly know him anymore, much less what he wants.” 

“Well, let’s let him choose. We can’t keep treating him like a child, he’s a man now. Besides, Cynthia, there’s Zoe to think of,” he says, and Zoe lifts her head in confusion. In all these fights, these nightly arguments, she’s never mentioned. 

“I know, just- Zoe’s doing okay, you know? Connor’s- he’s struggling, I just want him to keep his head above water, but Zoe, she’s floating already.” Cynthia says quietly, so Zoe has to strain to hear. 

“I know. I know. C’mon, let’s get to bed. I’ll be working late tomorrow.” 

“On his first day back?” Cynthia sounds hurt. 

“I know.” 

Zoe sighs and heads upstairs. 

 

Connor

**Evan Hansen: Sorry, your mom gave me this number. It’s Evan Hansen.**

**Me: i know. she gave me urs**

**Evan Hansen: Oh. Cool.**

**Evan Hansen: Sorry, I mean, it’s really cool, it must be cool to have such an involved mom**

**Evan Hansen: Sorry.**

**Me: its fine**

**Me: what did you want again?**

**Evan Hansen: Right! I was wondering if I could come over to your place to pick up my jacket, I think you still have it,,**

**Me: ok**

**Me: i live on 025 Versailles drive. yknow by the old elementary school that got torn down**

**Evan Hansen: Oh! Ok. See you then, sorry to bother you,**

**Me: yeah its fine dude**

**Evan Hansen: Right. Sorry.**

 

In the dark of his room, Connor stares at the jacket, casually tossed over the back of a chair. His mouth twitches like it wants to smile but can’t remember how. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Sorry for the slightly delayed update. Come bug me on my tumblr, @daisys-typewriter !!   
> Love you all, hope you had a good weekend!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A proposition is made. A jacket is returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! Thank you so much for being patient with me, I know it’s been forever since I’ve updated. I swear this doc is going somewhere! I just have a lot going on in my life right now. More updates to follow soon!

5 changes of clothes and several hours later, Evan seems himself ready to go visit the Murphys. He will not get sweaty, it’s not gonna happen, he’ll be fine. He doesn’t think he can stomach asking his mom to take him, so he rides the bus. 

On the ride over, he listens to a playlist Connor made to “improve your shitty music taste.” It’s mostly The Smiths, but The Smiths are good, if a little... gloomy. Question for later: how good can it be for your mental health to only listen to The Smiths and The Front Bottoms? 

Meanwhile, Connor is considering whether to wait at the door with the jacket. Will that look like he’s trying to keep Evan out of his house? He settles for waiting in the living room, the furthest away from his room that he’s ventured in a week. His head hurts with the amount he’s thinking about one person he’s always felt lukewarm about at best. Why Evan Hansen? 

It’s something they’ve wondered together, out loud, once or twice. Why Evan Hansen, tumbling out of a tree at just the right time? Why Connor Murphy, conveniently passed out in just the right place? A cruel twist of fate, Connor called it. A stressful coincidence, Evan decided. 

And then, inevitability rolls around once more, and Evan Hansen is knocking at his door one too many times. 

“Hey,” Connor says, hoping his hair doesn’t look greasy (it does). 

“Hey,” Evan replies, unclenching a fist.  

“Come in?” Connor asks, unsure if that’s the right way to do it or if he should just give the dweeb his jacket. But too late, Cynthia’s already cluttered down to the doorway. 

“Evan! Oh, we are so glad to see you, honey,” she says, engulfing him in a bone crushing hug. Evan strangely doesn’t appear to mind the smothering. “I made rice pilaf!” She says, like she’s found a cure for cancer. 

“Smells- a-amazing,” Evan says, feeling his stomach growl from one too many nights of un-ordered pizza. Cynthia hears, and her eyes grow wide with delight. 

“I’ll bet you’re hungry! Boys, go wash up for dinner. Zoe, set the table for one extra, please!” And suddenly it’s all so clear to Evan, that this twitchy, high strung and kindly woman is in her element when she can be a wife and mother, directing things into their proper places. No longer the grief stricken mother with the uncombed bob, she’s become Mary Poppins. Evan loves her for it. 

Connor and Zoe both feel an acute sense of embarrassment about Cynthia’s whole Martha Stewart thing, but they wash up and fold the napkins just the same, and suddenly it’s almost like normal, like Pre-Everything. Before the Murphys obtained two Problem Children. They could have been Leave It To Beaver, the Golden Family with their red blooded American guest. 

It doesn’t last. 

“So,” Cynthia says brightly, “Since Evan and Connor are both here, I thought we might discuss the retreat.” 

“Mom-“ Zoe starts. 

“Let me finish, Zoe,” she replies through gritted teeth. “I thought we’d leave it up to you, Connor.” 

“Leave what up to me?” Connor asks, looking for an escape route an escape route an escape route an- 

“Whether you want to go to Vermont, or stay here,” Cynthia replies, red fingernails curled around her fork. 

“What’s the catch if I stay?” Connor mumbles, praying to the abyss for invisibility powers or death. 

“I think you should go to therapy with Evan if you stay,” she says quietly, all childish hope in her eyes. “You boys have both been through a lot and- it would just make me happy if I could see you two be good friends for each other,” she rambles, misty eyed. 

Connor makes eye contact with his mother, then with Evan. He makes a decision. 

“I’ll do it.” 


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Outlets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tysm for reading! Come bug me on my tumblr, @daisys-typewriter!

Connor

It isn’t until later that they discover the extent to which Cynthia and Heidi talked about this beforehand. They already have a schedule of therapy sessions for Evan and Connor, and a list of “ice breakers and getting to know you questions” that both privately throw away. 

That night moves more quickly than it should, and suddenly Evan’s waving goodbye from the passenger side of his mom’s station wagon. Connor makes the twinge in his gut go away and he goes upstairs without a word to Larry and Cynthia. 

Out comes the Walkman, our comes the mixtape, out comes a joint, out come the acrylic paints and the canvases. On his walls are an eclectic mash of band posters and art projects from past Connors. There’s even a remnant of his bullshit Jackson Pollock phase, which he regrets, but at least it looks sort of cool. “Love Will Tear Us Apart” starts playing and he loosens his grasp on reality. He is no longer 17 year old Connor Murphy. 

He wonders if Evan got home okay, and then wonders why he wonders that. Why Evan Hansen? Bullshit cruel twist of fate. Does he feel like, a debt to the guy? No. He’s pretty sure he’d be better off dead. He guesses it’s just as well that he doesn’t completely hate Evan, since Cynthia is hellbent on getting them fucking friendship bracelets. 

Wait. Chill. This is supposed to be an escape from reality, Jesus. 

He takes a long hit off the joint and starts to paint. 

 

Evan 

“So, when were you planning on telling me I’m going back to therapy? With someone else?” Evan asks, bitterness creeping into his voice. It’s not that he minds, it’s not, just, Christ, sometimes Heidi acting like a change of routine is no big deal… it. It is, and she knows it is, she knows she knows she- 

“I thought it’d be a fun surprise! For you and Connor…” she replies, glancing at him. 

“You- you know. You know I hate it when things change- and it was right at their kitchen table, I couldn’t say no, I-“ He’s hyperventilating, sure now that he messed up, that dinner went badly, that they hate him too. 

“Baby! Baby,” Heidi exclaims, pulling over so she can hold him. 

“Mom,” he says blearily in between hiccuping breaths.

“I know. I know, Mom’s here, Mom’s not going anywhere,” she shushes him, awkwardly hugging him from the driver’s seat. Safe. Safe. 

When was the last time he let his mom hold him like this? It had been a while. 

 

Upon arriving home, after the mandatory “if you need to talk…” and worried glance, he heads up to his room, scrolling endlessly on his phone, then his laptop. What had Connor told him? He needed an outlet for all the wound up bullshit he had inside, something to do besides scroll and worry. 

Connor. Why Connor? Why couldn’t Evan get a guy he was kind of afraid of out of his head? Who was Connor Murphy? Before this summer, Connor was a dark, slumping extension of Beautiful Zoe, and as such didn’t really get noticed. 

But now everything was different, and Connor was kind of weird and funny and hated mashed potatoes, which was more than Evan knew about Zoe. Anyway, Evan is still kind of on the fence about whether his new thing for guys is permanent, so it doesn’t matter, he thinks. 

Except it does matter, more than anything, and he can’t even bliss out looking at social media like normal, he’s so freaked out. 

Goddamnit, Murphy. 

 

**Me: This is a weird question, but do you smoke pot?**

**Connor Murphy: why**

**Connor Murphy: do u need some ?**

**Me: No! My jacket just smells like weed, is all.**

**Connor Murphy: oh**

**Connor Murphy: you wanna go smoke in my car?**

**Me: Uh**

**Me: If it’s not too much trouble, that would be nice**

**Me: That sounded weird, sorry**

**Connor Murphy: jfc you really could use some, i’m omw**


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self indulgent smoking scene. I think that we are gonna be friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to come talk to me on my tumblr, @daisys-typewriter! More chapters soon to follow! (Also, sue me but I needed that smoking in the car scene or else it’s not a #real DEH fic lmao.) Love you all, dears! Thanks so much for almost 1000 hits, I know it’s been a long hiatus!

Why is Evan doing this? Why is he going to smoke drugs with a guy he barely knew? His brain isn’t even finished developing yet, he’ll probably have stunted brain growth and be a moron for the rest of his life. 

At that, he shrugs and locks the door behind him. 

A cherry red Ford Expedition pulls up in his driveway, and it’s only now that Evan considers how shabby his place must look to Connor, who lives in a house with a grand foyer and more than one bathroom. The Hansens aren’t exactly trailer trash, but Jesus Christ. 

Connor sticks his head out the window. “Get in.” 

“Sorry- sorry dinner was weird,” Evan says, closing the car door behind him. 

“Not your fault,” Connor replies, “It’s not really my mom’s, either, she’s just… batshit sometimes. She tries, though.” He picks at a cuticle before putting the car into gear. 

“No, I get it. My mom didn’t even warn me, and I hate surprises, so I was probably really pissy, I just- I couldn’t think of anything to say at dinner…” he trails off, bunching his hands in his blue polo. “Not- not that I don’t want to do this whole- this therapy thing! I mean, I just-“ 

“Quit digging yourself into a hole,” Connor snaps. “I get it. You don’t want any part of this and I don’t either. Let’s just get out of suburbia and smoke.” 

“About that…” Evan mumbles, “You should know I don’t really smoke.” 

“I kind of figured,” Connor replies, a hint of a smile playing upon his lips. 

Evan snorts, and they drive on in peace. June has made everything lush and green and thick with humidity, the regulation hostas in full bloom under the oak and elm trees. A man spraying Emerald Dreams Color Correction on his lawn waves as they pass. Evan wonders if this is what a bona fide high school memory feels like, having a friend and doing things because you want to. It doesn’t feel obligatory. It feels… normal. 

Sooner or later, inevitability rolls around, and they’re in a deserted Shoprite parking lot. Connor pulls out two joints from his hoodie pocket. He hands one to Evan and lights it. 

“Don’t inhale just yet, not until you’re used to it. And if you feel like you’re having a panic attack, tell me. Bad trips with weed are rough.” He says this like he’s the central authority on weed, which he probably is. 

“Here goes nothin’,” Evan murmurs, which makes Connor laugh for some reason. Which in turn makes Evan realize he’s never heard Connor laugh. It’s an open mouthed, eyes closed, head tilted back sort of thing, and Evan can’t even recognize him in that instant. 

Evan takes a drag off the joint, and despite Connor’s warnings, he inhales and immediately starts coughing. 

Connor laughs again, blowing smoke at him. “Fuckin’ told you not to, dude,” he says, and even after a couple hits, his posture is relaxed and he seems less stressed. 

There’s not a crazy dramatic change at first, but pretty soon he’s marveling at how soft the fabric of his jacket feels and thinking everything Connor says is the height of comedy. Soon enough, the car is full of smoke.

“Just wanna fuckin cut all my hair off, man,” Connor says, blinking slowly. 

“Yeah?” Evan says, not feeling like contributing to the conversation. 

“Yeah. Wanna fucking buzz it all off. I did that in eighth grade,” he murmurs, spinning one of his many rings. 

“Yeah?” Evan giggles. “No, but don’t buzz all your hair off, it’s so pretty like this. You look like… um, a poodle.” 

They crack up at that, tears streaming down Evan’s cheeks. 

“Why’d you say yes when I asked you to smoke weed in my car?” Connor mumbles after he catches his breath, eyes fluttering closed.

“Dunno. Why’d you ask me to… smoke weed in your car?” Evan snorts. 

“Cause you said something about weed and I don’t have anyone fun to smoke with,” Connor says simply before trying to make a smoke ring with his mouth. 

“I’m not fun.” 

“No, but you’re like the only person I know who tolerates me and I tolerate back,” Connor laughs. 

“Huh.” 

“Yeah. I probably wouldn’t say this if I were sober, cause it would go to your little nerd head, but… you’re okay. I like you.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t fuckin… say this if I were sober either, but you’re cool and um, fun.” 

Connor passively makes the ‘rock on’ sign and grins. 

Evan turns on the radio to a White Stripes song, the one that goes “I think that we are gonna be friends.” 

 


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something’s wrong with Zoe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope y’all didn’t mind the indulgent Murphys healing chapter that soothes my soul. Pls come talk on my tumblr, @daisys-typewriter!! Love you all, I’ll see you in the next one!

The first sign that the shit is hitting the fan comes when Zoe throws her guitar down a flight of stairs. 

 

Connor tries to piece it back together, tries to figure out when things went off the rails. For a while now, he guesses. He got home from smoking with Evan Monday morning, and Cynthia chewed him out for staying out late. Connor pointed out that Zoe wasn’t at breakfast either, and Cynthia just winced. Don’t ask, she had said. 

Two days later, Larry and Cynthia were off for a marriage counseling couples retreat, because God knows what the Murphys need is more retreats. They left an unholy amount of cash on the kitchen table, plus two no-limit credit cards. Zoe was still upstairs, and Connor could feel that wobbly feeling that meant the world was shifting in a bad way. 

Which brings him to now. Zoe steps out from her room to the top of the stairs in her pajamas, and deliberately throws her guitar down the stairs, as if in a trance. A few seconds later, it’s like she realizes what she’s done, suddenly, and she’s rushing down the stairs, sobbing, to cradle the broken neck and snapped strings. 

“Zoe, what? ...hey, no, you’re okay,” Connor says, making his way to kneel at the foot of the stairs with her. 

“I didn’t- I don’t-“ she couldn’t catch her breath, choking on her tears. She looks dazed, exhausted to Connor, and it tugs at something in him, maybe a memory of how he used to be better at this big brother thing. 

“You didn’t,” he agrees. “It was an accident. I’ll buy you a new one,” he murmurs, his hand hovering over her back. Should he? Would it make things worse? But he can’t just sit here. When he starts to rub her back, she flinches on instinct, which grips Connor’s conscience, but after a second the muscles relax. 

“I don’t know why- it was dumb. I’m sorry for causing such a- a scene,” she says, fear lacing the edges of her voice, but mixed with a confidentiality that he thought he might never hear again. 

“I’m the king of causing unnecessary scenes. It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

A beat. 

“Do you think it’s possible that we’re both fucked up and my fucked up-ness is only coming to light just now? It’s a new theory of mine.” Zoe wipes her tears with her sleeve. 

“I think that’s possible. Did something happen?” 

“Cynthia and I fought. I asked to go book a session with your therapist, and we argued about that, and long story short I can’t use the car. And no more music lessons.” 

Connor can’t say anything. What is there to say? I’m sorry Cynthia thinks she’s only capable of having one problem child at a time? I’m sorry the past five years have ensured that neither of us can lead normal teenage years? I’m sorry you’re banned from learning and growing in your one passion?

“That’s fucked up,” he settles on. 

“Yeah.” 

“Have you been sleeping?” He asks, zeroing in on the harsh dark circles under her eyes and god, he never saw a family resemblance between them until now, and she looks exactly like a younger Connor, a Connor from worse times,  _ fuck- _

Zoe just shakes her head in response. 

“Do you maybe wanna try getting a nap in and then we’ll go get you a new guitar tomorrow? Mom and Dad don’t have to know it ever happened.” He says, releasing his gentle hold on her shoulder. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” She asks, and it’s so obvious that she thinks this is all a trap, she just doesn’t know how. Way to twist the knife, Zo. 

He just sighs and says, “Felt like varying the mood a little.” He’s about to head back into his room, when Zoe grabs at his sleeve. 

“Connor?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t want to go back up there alone,” she says, and she’s not Connor anymore, she’s young Zoe, six years old and scared of the dark. Nine years old and scared of kidnappers. Twelve years old and scared of Connor- 

He nods and leads her to the couch, grabs the afghan from off the armchair and pulls it over her. 

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” he says awkwardly, hoping that if he does this and she goes to bed, it’ll be fixed and she can quit looking so very young and hurt, or at least he can notice it less. 


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only a brief weed mention in this one, despite the date. Inevitability rolls around and Connor goes to therapy.

 

Connor wakes up in the faux leather armchair to the sound of Cynthia frying eggs in the kitchen. The sunlight streams in from the Venetian blinds, and Connor closes them quickly, so Zoe doesn’t wake up. 

He can feel instinctively that he looks like hell, and that Cynthia’s been watching him sleep. He weighs his options, and ultimately decides to brave the discomfort of breakfast. 

“Morning, sleepyhead!” Cynthia cheers, giving him a quick once over to decide if he’s high. He isn’t. 

Connor nods and sits down. He wonders if Zoe had nightmares like he did, then wonders why it matters to him. 

“Are you excited?” She asks him, and he tenses with confusion, wondering what there is to be excited about. 

“Excited?” He asks cautiously. Cynthia’s long, coral painted nails click impatiently on the countertop. 

“For therapy with Evan and Dr. Sherman!” She exclaims. “You didn’t forget, did you?” Her face creases with hurt lines. Oh. Therapy. Right.

“Course not. I’m excited,” he says, mouth set in a straight, unforgiving line. He doesn’t blink. 

“Just remember. You and Evan are there to help each other, so don’t be afraid to speak up if something sparks an unpleasant memory, or if you need to talk about anything, or if-“ 

“I’ll be fine,” he replies flatly as she scoops two eggs onto his plate. Over-hard, the way he’s liked them since he was a kid. It catches him, somehow, that she remembered. She’s always a mom, something that reoccurs to him every now and then. Which makes him feel like shit, Cynthia trying so, so hard, and just flat mouths and flat words in response.  

“So,” she says, politely stepping around the awkward silence, “What happened to Zoe’s guitar? I found it at the bottom of the stairs when we got home.”

“An accident,” he murmurs, wondering if Zo can hear him from the living room. “I’m driving her to buy that Charvel So-Cal guitar she wanted this afternoon. Since you took away her car privileges,” he says pointedly. 

“She told you?” 

“Yeah. And I think it’s bullshit to take away her guitar lessons for asking for therapy. God knows you can afford it,” he says through a mouthful of eggs. 

“Your father- and I- have already agreed that we can’t reward the kind of behavior that drove that outburst. She screamed and cussed in my face, telling me id been ignoring her for weeks. I want to fix it but he- I, can’t let her walk all over me,” She replies as she turns on the faucet in the sink. She looks part heartbroken, part ashamed. Her hands shake slightly. 

“If she’s looking for attention, maybe you should give her some,” he sighs, feeling much older than his mother in that moment. He scarfs down the rest of his eggs and heads out the door. 

When did his mother turn into his father? It used to be that Connor or Zoe would sneeze and she would call an ambulance. Now she wants to make sure her kid isn’t just “seeking attention?” Ever since he’s gotten home, it’s been all wrong, all different. Was it his last attempt that pushed her over the edge? Because the old Cynthia would have called the doctor, the psychiatrist and the superintendent if Zoe had told her she was feeling depressed. Maybe his mom can only handle so many family crises at a time. 

It occurs to him that he’s still in yesterday’s clothes, driving his mother’s car to therapy, hair unwashed. He supposes that that’s the side of being a mess that no one considers: you get gross and ridiculous sometimes. 

The landscaping outside of the clinic is crisp and precise, and the parking lot is freshly redone. Connor stamps out a cigarette onto the pavement with his shoe before putting on his hoodie as an extra layer of protection from whatever lay within. He checks his watch: 10:06. Fashionably late. 

Evan Hansen is waiting outside for him, chewing his fingernails, practically bugging out with nerves. Not that Connor doesn’t feel like chewing his fingernails and having a minor meltdown too, it’s just that Evan is significantly worse at hiding it. 

“Hey,” Evan calls, spotting him. “You’re late.” 

“Yeah,” He says, feeling a familiar tug urging his to lash out. He resists. “Sorry.” A pause. 

“Well?” 

“I um- you can go in first, if you- if you want.” 

“I’m not gonna hold your hand, Evan,” Connor snorts. 

“I know.”  

 

An hour later, Evan is leading them out of the building into the bright sunlight, making Connor regret his hoodie. 

“I hate to say it, but your therapist is seriously out of touch, man. Writing letters to each other? ‘Dear Evan Hansen, today’s going to be an ass-slapping amazing day and here’s why?’ Give me a break.” Connor laughs, kicking a pebble from the rock garden out in front of them as they walk. 

Evan giggles. “‘Dear Connor Murphy, today is going to blast your tits into space, that’s how good it’s going to be.’” That draws a real, full throated laugh out of Connor’s chest. They go back and forth like that, kicking the pebble between them, until they reach Connor’s car. 

“See you tomorrow, Connor,” Evan calls over his shoulder with a kind of abandon he doesn’t think he’s ever felt. Christ, has he ever really been comfortable until now? 

“See you,” Connor calls back, flipping him off playfully.


End file.
